We are currently in pre-production for American Migrant, an epic arthouse road movie charting an undocumented rock & roll singer and his songwriter friends from Texas across Mexico as they guitar-bomb the bars of Tenochtitlan, the streets of Monterrey, and all the primal desert in between.

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It will be epic, like a punk-rock Lawrence of Arabia, a Kevin Costner Western dipped in leather, or the first scenes of No Country For Old Men, sweeping in its hi-def, Mexican desert vastness.  Dr. Zhivago, speaking gringo Spanish in the sun.  But it will also be arthouse, like some gritty film made by lo-fi people from New York.  The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly, for musicians.

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Will our frazzled heroes travel beyond the bird's nest of barbed wire?  Will they make it through the narcobloqueos and the Soviet-Aztec police checkpoints, and into the arid cactus heavens?  Will their expired legal status stop them?  Will angels intervene on behalf of the pale mariachi?  Will the expired love interest make the trip, to increase dramatic tension?  Will our heroes bribe their way through the narco ghosts of Mexico? 

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Or will they consume the dust of scorpions and thieves?​​